connections. [elijah]

Elijah
There were, perhaps, text messages exchanged. Or maybe even a phone call, but arrangements were made. Drinks. karaoke. Ohgodpleaserescuemeeeeeee unspoken but in ever ounce of his tone that he didn't realize he was giving away.

When Elijah decided to stop trying, when he stopped wanting to hide everything and feeling like he needed to bury everything and not let anything ever be even remotely seen ever- a remarkable thing happened. He found that he was actually happy, he found that his stomach didn't hurt and his mind didn't race and he didn't feel like he was half a person because he was actually being himself. The concept of self is fragile. Sometimes, he doesn't make the differentiation, sometimes he doesn't think there is a barrier between ourselves and others and perhaps there is some collective consciousness and some universal experience. He muses, sometimes.

But, there was the intent of meeting, and he's already at the bar. There's karaoke going and some girl with uniform highlights is singing Heartbreaker by Joan Jett and Elijah is one shot of tequila into the night because why not. He'd had a conversation with Sera about the seriousness of actually wanting to pursue a future within the Order. Somewhere, he might think strangely of it later in life that he got more instruction on the hard truths of cutting it in the order (he thought back on it, the edges of something that seemed sad to her that he didn't understand. He didn't know to ask about, didn't know how to ask about it. He thought often of Sera. Fondly, worried sometimes that he boiled her down to an idea instead of an actuality. We digress) It was the first time he'd been out, legitimately out and done things in nearly a month. A whole month. Life had been filled with books and studying and there was a joy n it and-

Well, this was pretty fucking fun, too, and he needed an escape. It wasn't his studies that were going to kill him, it was his parents. Who were on a date, and staying at the Marriott. The last place he expected them was a karaoke bar; his dad didn't much approve of his drinking. Or his use of various other sundry things. We digress again, because it is Elijah and he is prone to digression.

There are people at the bar, with low lights and tables and a little stage set up where people warble and sing their little part. Sometimes there's an open mic night and amateurs with acoustic guitars get up and play. He hadn't actually been to this bar before, and for that Elijah was mournful.

He was wearing jeans tonight, probably for the first time in awhile, with a shirt that had three quarter sleeves and the vest he was wearing was open. He had half a dozen bracelets on and a necklace he couldn't quite take off because Jenn had tied the knot too tight. It didn't really care, though, it has a sun on it. He liked it. And thus, there was time to wait. And enjoy Joan Jett.

KiaraThe trick to karaoke was, of course, to sell it.

Regardless if you could sing half a note or entice the neighborhood dogs to join in - if you sold what you were singing, if you lost yourself in it convincingly enough, well - the audience would buy into it. Sometimes, they might even buy you a drink if the song and mood agreed. There'd been a text, most likely, a plea for liberation and Kiara's short hand response tapped out:

Going 2 bar 2nite. Karaoke. Beer. Parental liberation at hand!!

Meet there @ 9

At some point, between the low lighting and the animated chatter and one shot of tequila burning down Elijah's throat as Joan Jett's legacy is delivered a slightly off key tribute - Kiara Woolfe makes her own grand debut. The brunette slipping into the throng of Saturday night revelers and winding a path through close packed bodies toward Elijah; some standing about to listen to the music (the term liberally applied of course), others to wait their own turn on the tiny stage under the lights, perusing plastic covered song book selections in hushed tones.

It was busy enough to make in depth conversation a challenge, though the crowds thinned out toward the bar as the Verbena breezed toward it in a wash of rejuvenating energy and dark, dramatically lined eyes. She slips into a bar stool beside him; twists it a little and tosses all that heavy hair from her face; mouth curled in greeting. "You started without me, I'm heartbroken," she greets, voice slightly raised to be heard over the backing track issuing from speakers set up somewhere near the stage.

She's dressed for the warmer nights, Kiara. Jeans and a sleeveless blouse; a scoop neck that offers her collarbones and the slope of a sun kissed shoulder to the world; a tangle of necklaces and silver hoops in her lobes; her wrists and fingers adorned with gleaming adornments and the faint sweetness of her skin; soap and lavender as she leans closer to Elijah to settle a jacket over the back of her chair.

"What's your poison?" She gestures at his shot glass, her fingers reaching to idly flick open a bar menu and peruse the offerings.

ElijahHe lights up when he sees her, because he's all sunshine sometimes. Been likened to a sunflower because he needs so much sunlight and who didn't really like sunflowers? Elijah could blossom along the side of a highway so long as there was sunshine. In a metaphorical sense, he couldn't be alone. Didn't know how to be alone and found himself with people and attentions and conversations wherever he could. A gregarious thing, Mister Poirot.

"I didn't have a chance to pre-party," he tells her, leans in and sound travels and his voice has the hints of the south in it. Lilts and lingers for a moment before he pulls back again to focus on her face. He's at home in a place like this, all bustle and movement. Dreams and heartaches.

There isn't much down time before he's taking her in, silvers and warm tones of sun kissed skin and a sleeveless blouse because it was summer and why not? She has lovely collarbones. "Tequila, and you look fucking fantastic… does flattery get me out of trouble?"

KiaraThere's a decisive little flick of Kiara's eyes upward to catch his and her mouth, supple thing that it is, curves a little more decidedly into a smile; flashes her teeth after a beat.

White and straight; sharp little canines as if she were quite exactly the wolf her name would suggest she was.

"That depends on how many drinks you buy me, kid." She closes the drinks menu then, waits to catch the bartender's eye and it's a vodka tonic the pagan orders, gestures for another for Elijah and thrums her fingertips against the counter as their drinks are prepared; turns her profile toward the stage to witness the last few notes of their Joan Jett faithful. There's an outbreak of applause, a wolf whistle from the far right and Kiara, eyes gleaming turns back to the Initiate, cocking her head toward the vacant stage.

"What do you think? Going to get up there later and bring the house down?" Her gaze dips over him; the shirt and vest; the necklace; her eyes return to his face and she's smiling still as their drinks are set down in front of them; Kiara's with wedges of fresh lime and ice.

"I think you have it in you."

ElijahA vodka tonic. It was a little bubbly, a little something, truth be told be'd never had a vodka tonic before. It was an odd thing to think about. Elijah's had a number of things to drink, he's indulged in a number of things that most people would have never entertained, but Elijah had never had a rigt and respectable mixed drink that someone could conceivably have at a nice party and look like they weren't crazy or partying like a frat boy.

Well, that wasn't true. He'd had a mint julep before, but that's bourbon with mint leaves.

He's always got a vest on, at least when he was out and about. At least when he was enjoying the scenery and the the night life, he had to have a place to put his pocket watch. His constant companion, something with a cracked face and a little bit of blood stuck in the floral front of the device. Elijah loved the thing. It had been a gift, something that he hadn't anticipated at first becoming something so integrate to his practice. The symbolism of it, circles, radials, the passage of time and its broken bits. THe illusion of time passing, the hint that everything is now. Everywhere is here.

but was he going to go sing?

"Hell yeah," he said with a laugh, "I love this stuff. Good or bad, it's freaking hilarious. You gonna come, too?"

KiaraThe sweet with the sour. It was exactly the sort of thing you might imagine a woman like Kiara Woolfe would order; something with the aftertaste that lingered, a citric burn in the throat. She's swirling the ice around that glass as it starts to sweat in the sticky closeness of the bar (well meaning ceiling fans doing little but pushing the warm air around) and raises a well groomed eyebrow as he asks if she's going to join him.

"Oh, I can't sing." That, with warm laughter and Kiara's tongue tracing the edge of her teeth, she downs her drink in a long, indulgent sip and sets it on the counter; ice and lime and the tiniest drudges of vodka; the flush already beginning to infuse her skin; blood rushing to warm her cheeks; to set a gleam into dark eyes as she slides to her feet.

"Not that it's ever stopped me before. Watch this." She's in the crowd before he can do much but exactly that - watch - as the Verbena cuts a path toward the stage; leans in to say something to a young woman with a pixie cut and dark skin; her nose and lip pierced; an impressive tattoo sleeve governing one arm as its holding onto the folder of song offerings. The pagan is smiling; gesturing to the stage with a little flick of her fingers and after the smaller female glances inside her folder and says something in return -

Kiara is abruptly on the stage to glances of returning interest; the microphone feeding out static as she shakes her hair from her eyes. "This is, uh - " She looks lovely and wild and exhilarated, laughs once with a sort of breathless anticipation and finds Elijah over the crowd -  "for a friend of mine. And a classic. And I apologize in advance to Kim Carnes." A smattering of laughter; one or two claps and a beat begins to play. Tinged with retro, electronic keyboard and drums; a guitar and then Kiara's fingers curl around the mic.

Her hair is Harlowe gold
Her lips sweet surprise
Her hands are never cold
She's got Bette Davis eyes
She'll turn her music on you
You won't have to think twice
She's pure as New York snow
She got Bette Davis eyes

She hadn't been lying when she told Elijah she wasn't a singer; her voice is pleasing but lacks the depth of a performer. Still, as she moves in rhythm to the music; sliding her fingers down the stand and letting her eyes slip shut during the chorus, it provokes a memorable delivery, if nothing else.

Elijah[oh god, if you're going up next don't suck. Per+cha]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Elijahhe says she can't sing, but he laughs anyway. She doesn't seem ashamed of it. she doesn't let that stop her from actually enjoying herself. He pulls the drink to his lips, lets the flavor of it stack on his tongue and it does have that moment where he can just process the taste. He wasn't going to get completely toasted tonight, but there was some warmth to him. He was learning self control, and that was the thing. Learning that you can exert yourself to keep from going over the edge when Elijah knew damned good and well that he lived at the edge, that he couldn't help but push until there was nothing else left.

That said, there was something to be said about being able to be present enough to enjoy what was going on.

Kiara hadn't been lying, but he was enthralled anyway. He smiled, bright, holding onto his glass like it was a security blanket or some favor of a young person waiting for a concert from their favorite artist. He listens, takes her in and then puts his glass down long enough to applaud. He laughs with delight, joy, just akin in what was going on there.

"Liiiaaaaar," he says when she comes off stage, when the music stops, "you are Hella fun to watch and you can, in fact, carry a tune in a bucket."

KiaraThere's a certain satisfaction that bleeds from Kiara as she slips down off the stage when she's finished.

Appreciative applause and calls for her to sing again are issued and she weaves a path back toward Elijah with bright eyes and a curling, pleased little expression turning up the edges of her mouth. It grows in confidence when he greets her with liar and she's settling back against the counter with an elbow resting on it and a quaint little lift of a shoulder as she tips her chin up.

"Passingly." She corrects with a quick little gleaming look and twists to slide back onto the bar stool; crossing her legs and collecting her glass; fishing the lime out of it and sucking at the corner of it for a beat before she uses it to gesture at him. "What about you, hm? You know, I've heard you sing before."

There's a pause, the brunette's expression venturing somewhere shy of calculating. "A certain somebody decided to leave an impressive demonstration of it on my voicemail." Her eyes glint; a dimple threatening as she tucks a fall of dark hair behind an ear. It's for naught, in truth, Kiara's hair had a will of its own; preferring to remain in loose and wild disarray around her shoulders; bracketing her features; the bangs cut low over her brows the only sense of order to it; the mane of heavy waves.

"But you should get up there." She reaches over and sets her fingers along the seam of his vest; traces it and her eyes follow the motion, flick back to read his expression.

"Show them what you've got, kid."

Elijah"You've heard me sing before?" he asks, a little confused by that, because there were holes form the car accident that he didn't quite patch. He knew that he'd called her a couple times after he'd had that particular incident. Known that they talked and knew that he was graced with a very real, very human picture of the woman who was otherwise some sharp-and-saucy earth goddess. "Whaaaat? What was I even doing?"

He's shameless, though, mostly bewildered but he laughs anyway. She's somewhere almost calculating and he, hapless mortal, has little problem being left to the whims and desires of whatever is to come. Always cast in to the tempest, into the fray. Always. He takes a quick drink and then offers her his glass, "keep me safe." Party etiquette, you see. Don't leave a glass unattended.

Elijah was a shameless creature, but something about Kiara sometimes makes him stop, makes him pause and grin bright and eager like is this really happening? Soon enough, though, it was off to the stage and a song is picked quickly enough. "True story, I legitimately hated Def Deppard for the longest time because I was convinced that they just had no idea how to spell."

He holds the mic in both hands, grin on his face.

Step inside, walk this way
You and me babe, Hey, hey!

Elijah laughs at this point, as though he can't quite fathom how ridiculous this song is and he's trying so hard not to talk through the intro. He throws Kiara an exaggerated wink.

Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on
Livin' like a lover with a radar phone
Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp
Demolition woman, can I be your man?
Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light
Television lover, baby, go all night
Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet
Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah!

Which is about when he manages to show that, yes, Elijah knows how to work a crowd. He knows how to get people talking, or at the very least paying attention and he is fearless. He is dauntless, he is unafraid to go boldly where no man has gone before or, at the very least, go where some other people have gone before and make it seem like a good idea for a few times. He does move to the music, engages with some people, but he's a handsome young man with a pretty damn nice voice who still manages to sound pretty good for a song that doesn't require too much singing.

Hey!
C'mon, take a bottle, shake it up
Break the bubble, break it up

Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon, fire me up
Pour your sugar on me
Oh, I can't get enough

 Kiara
Elijah knows how to perform.

While Kiara had the charisma to hold attention, the young man up there now knows how to command it; how to move; how to engage; how to lose himself in the music and absurdity of his song choice - and it is ridiculous. And the brunette he leaves at the bar has turned to observe him all the more for it, is leaning back with an elbow resting on it; a boot tapping against the edge of her stool in time to the music.

He winks at her and the pagan's smile grows, turns her chin slightly to half smother laughter and then she's straightening; sitting upright and shaking back her hair and cheering him on with keen focus, turning only once to lean in and order a re-fill and two shots; lines them up beside Elijah's half consumed drink and waits for the performance to finish; sipping from her glass and letting her eyes slip into the crowd.

To watch the way they watch him.

There's a certain admiration inherent in her for it, the fact he has them applauding; some moving along to the music; some raising their voices to join in on the chorus. When the last strains of the song fade out, the Verbena sets her glass down in favor of sliding to her feet and applauding, joining the temporary chorus of well done and encore, encore that ring out.

She's holding a shot glass between her fingers when he does return; Kiara with her dark eyes and red, curling lips. There's an element of challenge to her expression, an exultant, triumphant gleam. "Here. That one is on me. You looked amazing up there."

She downs the other shot; feels the burn of the tequila in her throat. "How did it feel?"

ElijahSomeday, he'll be somebody. Someday, the fact that Elijah has the potential to be charismatic and charming and commanding of attention- someday, that might be a reality. At the moment he is all potential, all wound up and coiled and springing pushing ready readyreadypushing against the seams and seeing if the walls will break. When that snap happens, when he topples hopelessly and irrevocably over the edge he'll be in a new world. A new place, a new set of parameters whose edges he could find and break past. Someday, he would be so much more than he is right now.

But right now? Elijah Poirot's not so bad. He could use that infinite potential for something like karaoke right now.

He laughs when he's done, puts the microphone back on the stand and he weaves his way through people who are congratulatory and occasionally engages in a little conversation. His smile is bright, Elijah is a personable creature. When he meets Kiara again, he looks like he owns the world. Takes the shot glass between his fingers and raises it for a second only to pour it down the hatch like he's done so many times before, closes his eyes and shakes his head before he puts it down on the bar. Polished off and clean, upside down and not a drop left.

"The performance or the tequila?" he looks back at her, at dark eyes and red, curling lips, "I liked it! It's… it's fucking empowering."

KiaraThere are only a few tables in the bar not crowded with people, one opens up in the corner as a group vacate it; chairs scraping against wooden floors and the Verbena cuts a glance toward it; gestures at Elijah that they should make a bid for it and collects her jacket to lay claim to a chair; setting her vodka tonic down and sliding into it.

The table top is marred; carries old wounds gouged into the polished surface and the pagan's fingers trace across one as they settle, as a pair of women clamber onto the stage to take the microphone in a muffled burst of laughter and feedback.

"Both," that, Kiara's pronouncement to his question as they settle; scooping the heaviness of her hair over one shoulder so it falls in thick lashes over her arm. "But mostly the former. If you think this is empowering I should drag you out skydiving. There's a group out near Boulder that run dives all the time." Kiara twists her glass by the rim, her eyes roving Elijah's face. She looks - contemplative, for a beat.

The vodka offering a warm color to her cheeks.

"I think you might enjoy it. Not that this isn't it's own sort of exhilaration." Her wrist flicks out; bracelets clinking together. "Speaking of and not that I mind but - what prompted the pleas for escape tonight, anyway?"

ElijahHe makes a break for the vacated spot, slides in with the kind of confidence with believing that this is precisely where he belonged. This is precisely where he was supposed to be and this chair was, rightfully, his. Nobody would dare take it because, well, it was his. Elijah knew how to navigate a bar; he turned twenty-one in about a week and a half.

"I've been once," he tells her, "I'd just turned eighteen and I wanted to, y'know, launch myself out of an airplane and who-knows-how-many feet. It was… fuck, this is going to sound weird, but it was quiet." Probably the only person to consider this to be quit, the wind rushing past and the feeling falling, falling, arms out eyes closed but then wide open as the ground comes closer and closer until there is a jerk and you're back in the air again. The descent is gentle, then. As gentle as falling can be.

There was a moment when he thought about not pulling the cord.

He doesn't really need to shave. Perhaps a touch up every once in awhile, but he's young and hadn't been graced with the capacity to actually grow a beard. His eyes are green and bright and his pupils are just a little larger than they normally would be. His nose was tingling just a tad.

"I'd love to go again. I'm in a better headspace?" he says, gestures with what was left of the vodka tonic, "and my parents are in town. It's great but it's so, so awkward. My mom pretty much seems like she would rather go home. It's… I love my parents, and I know they give a shit? It's just… yeah." Finishes off his drink.

KiaraShe could say a lot to that. That the last jump she'd had she'd waited until it was nearly beyond the safe point to pull her chute; that she'd kept her eyes open as she fell and held her arms out and just - let the earth drag her down. Gravity wasn't a thing to be argued with and Kiara Woolfe understood that all too well. When you jumped - inevitably, at some point - you had to fall, too.

Cause and effect. The cycle in motion.

She doesn't say a lot of what's there momentarily in her dark eyes; they reflect some unspoken acknowledgement, some fleeting, shared comprehension when he says this will sound weird and it was quiet and she watches him closely for a beat before the corner of her mouth gives over a tiny, suggestive hint of a smile and her eyes drop down to study her glass as she picks it up; leans back and takes a sip. 

"Okay, let's do it sometime." She sets the glass back down; leaves her fingers curled around it there on the tabletop. Kiara's fingernails are painted a glossy, crimson red. There's a hint at the edges its about to chip; rough little imperfections there amidst the glittery surface. Always blood red with her, the earth witch; always that underlying idea that she's not quite - caged. Always seeming a little impatient, a little distracted by the noise and the faces and the energy humming in a place like this.

Elijah mentions his parents and they tick back, then. Her eyes; her focus. He pulls it in and she leans forward far enough to touch the tips of her fingers to his hand; brush the edge of a knuckle. "I get that," gentler, her voice. A flicker of some shared sentiment. "The last time I was around my parents it ended with my moving out. Sometimes family is best viewed from a distance."

A noise, Kiara slides her hand back. "A significant one, in my case."

Elijah"So let it be written, so let it be done," he announces. Maybe a little- what was that, Ten Commandments? The King and I? He couldn't remember, just that it was a quote, that it was something he heard, that makes him smile for a second and his eyes fall from her nails, travel up her arms to her face and her dark eyes that seem intent on her glass for just a moment.

He keys in, and the world is going all over the place. People are talking, drinks clinking, there's the sound of people singing or trying to sing and somewhere at the back of his consciousness there is the sound of other conversations that don't have bodies to match with them and he likes crowds sometimes because he doesn't have to differentiate where the voices are all coming from. She says there is distance, sometimes, good fences make good neighbors and all that.

"It's like… someone's in your territory. And there's a fine line between I love you and go the fuck away," he laughs, but keys in to her expression, "were you always from New York?"

KiaraThere's a hesitation before she answers that. It could be born of so many things when it came to people like them. Past lives, past loves. Phantoms and horrors that are still fresh enough to feel visceral and raw when pushed at, even in passing conversation. And it wasn't that someone like Kiara with her curling smiles and bold, brassy presence was ashamed of it - the fucking mess of it; life; love; death - any of it but rather that the in built defense mechanism had to be there, somewhere.

Who did you trust, really? How could you know who was eaves-dropping and Alexander had said it, via Ginger, they were in town. Technocrats at the station; seeping into their world like noxious stains. It had to be there somewhere - Kiara's capacity to close down, close off.

She's in good company with others who possessed that particular tendency, though her hesitation is briefer; Elijah is privy to the consternation that she wrests with behind those expressive eyes; that lovely, supple mouth before - "Born and raised," smooth, that. There's an underlying caution to it, though. The way she picks out her words.

The way she measures time before she goes on; fingers curling around that glass; reaching to flick aside the bangs from her lashes. "I lived there long enough I probably passed some of us here now and never knew. Apparently Ian was there for a while, " there's a little smile, there. This hint of some established point of amusement.

"Life has a sense of humor."

ElijahHe catches it, and his instinct is to pull away, to know that he'd overstepped and to redirect. He knows this because there are ways that he deflects. Things that he says and things that he does in such a fashion that keeps him safe. Little lies, little nods in other places. Some people catch the movement, but it's made him key into others better. There's consternation in those eyes of hers before she responds.

He doesn't know if he should pull back.

"It has to have a sense of humor," he replies, "otherwise it would be ungodly depressing and nobody would want to do the whole life thing. It's the rhyming moments that make life interesting."

There care things he wants to ask, that lurks on the edge of his tongue because there's so many questions. he doesn't know her, he doesn't know if he can know her, if there are questions he can ask or if there are things she won't tell him because they don't have the kind of interplay necessary for a bared soul. He thinks about it, but not for long. Doesn't seem to think of too many things for long, gets a reputation for being some Scarecrow crooning if he only had a brain. Except he does, and the wizard didn't hand out common sense.

"I heard the club scene was fucking fantastic."

Kiara[Manip + 'Subterfuge I need to buy' + 1 WP because being a liar is apparently hard esp. without dice]

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (2, 10) ( success x 1 )

Elijah[Am I buying this? Per+empathy]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )

Kiara[Er, not WP, DIFF. I can't remember anything.]

KiaraIt's not an exaggeration to say he doesn't know Kiara particularly well. The things he does know he can likely count on one hand. She's from New York. She can hold her own easily enough when the need arose. She seems fearless and gives the impression when she's Working that she's dipping her fingers into his soul and warming it from the inside; more recently; that sensation seems to come less with that devouring edge that she'd possessed when they first met and now a low, rhythmic pulse.

The heartbeat of nature itself, or so it seemed with this woman at times. Capricious. Quick to smile, quick to laughter and yet somehow - veiled. The Doesn't Give A Damn demeanor was fractured at points; subtle, occasional tenderness surfacing. Like the night she'd witnessed a ghost's distress. Like the conversation they'd held at the Chantry over wine; the flicker-falter of the Verbena's courage, then. The drop away of her eyes.

He heard the club scene was fucking fantastic.

There's this hanging beat where Kiara's smile falters. This tiny spasm at the edges of her mouth while she looks across at Elijah; this shadow passing over her lovely features there before she recovers, turns her glass a little further between her fingers. "Yeah, it was pretty unforgettable. I met some of my best friends in the club scene." The moment draws out.

"And a fair few people that remind me of Sera. Lost to the moment but - beautiful, in that way." He sees through it, though. The little catch in her breathing, the pause before she re-assembles herself. He'd managed to catch her off guard, just a little. Somewhere between the mention of life and moments and the life Kiara had led, once.

ElijahThere's a hanging beat where her smile falters and he has a choice- he can pretend like he didn't notice, power on, and keep with the thread of conversation, or he can transition as gracefully or as gracelessly as a young man on the cusp of adulthood can. There's a catch in her breathing, and Elijah knows better than to push on bruises.

Except, of course, for when he plods through dauntless and clueless of the consequences of his words and actions. He can be clueless for someone so perceptive.

"The first time I met Sera we were at a party and I was chatting up her friend Dee- who, when you talk to her, blushes full body and she goes from creamy to scarlet and I've only managed to render that lovely young woman a peachy pink. Still trying," he said, but continued along because this story is about Sera, "and she- Sera- vaulted over this fence in fuckin' four inch heels like it was nothing and we got to talking, but we didn't really talk much? But we talked for a little while and she kissed me on the head and called me a darling boy… either darling or precious… but I remember she kissed me on the forehead and I'd just met her and it felt like she gave a shit about me even though I was a fucking stranger."

He smiles, fondness, "I don't have words for Sera, and that's saying something. I think she wouldn't like the boundaries that come with some definitions."

KiaraHe doesn't push and she must, to a degree, be grateful for it.

Must be the reason she smiles with a flash of those white teeth of hers and her chin moves to prop itself easily on top of a palm; Kiara winding herself down into a stance of coiled focus; her long-lashed eyes on Elijah; on his story of meeting Serafine and flirting with Dee and there's a brief noise of agreement (Dee is lovely when she blushes, Sera vaulted the fence in killer heels and kissed him) from the brunette.

"She's wonderful," Kiara murmurs, with an affectionate little twist to her lip; it curves up. "The first night we met, she invited me back to Corona Street, I met Dan and the others and we shared a joint," she doesn't go into more detail than that but there's the implication to it, to the warmth in her voice and the particular way she gives consideration to the Cultist's name, to the memory of their first encounter that says a lot.

She sits up, then. Pushes her hair from her shoulders with a rattle of silver. The two women on the stage have been replaced by a heavy set businessman with sweat stains under the arms of his dress shirt; a half loosened tie hanging over a protruding stomach and perspiration gleaming under the stage light as he flatly intones the words to Sex Bomb. "I think we need more alcohol," she pronounces, whether in reaction to the current karaoke star or their conversation, an unknown.

Elijah"Oh god, yes," he looks at the businessman, then back to Kiara. He's a little tipsy, and that smile is infectious and he leans in enough to take her glass, let his fingers brush over her skin for a moment, "vodka tonics again or shots? One of us has to drink classily tonight."

 Kiara
One of us has to drink classily tonight.

Kiara's eyes on the stage and they're drawn back, it's drawn back, that dark gaze. Dragged back and it ticks down, just for a moment, to where his fingers brush her skin. Just the edge of her palm but its enough to make the corners of the pagan's mouth turn upward. Reactionary and instant; her attention to it. The tiniest of brushes.

"Why not both?" She offers, her eyes lifting to Elijah's face and searching it; soaking in the alcohol tinged smile; her own widens just a little as she does; enough to threaten a dimple in a cheek; to flash those sharp, white little teeth of hers. "We can aim high, kid and besides - " she stretches; rolls her shoulder and slides a hand across the span of the table to lightly tweak the edge of his vest where it hung open.

"One of us has to be the bad influence or we'll never get anywhere."

-

"So," she picks it up, when he returns, when there are fresh drinks on the table; Kiara Woolfe and her articulate hands; one tousling through her hair with a Devil-may-care haphazardness, the other teasing at the edge of the table with a fingernail; drawing the edge of the woodgrain with a thumb. "I never did ask but how'd the study wind up the other night?

You kicked its ass, right?"

Elijahhe returns with a vodka tonic and a mint julep. Where the bartender found mint leaves was beyond Elijah but he'd found that, growing up in the atmosphere he had, it was completely acceptable to drink something that was mostly bourbon. Drinks sat down, careful and he slides back into his chair, One of them had to be the bad influence, and something about the grin on his face said that he was more than willing to play wide-eyed ingenue for the evening.

Like Elijah could ever play innocent (he could, darling, naive thing, mores than he realizes).

"You are now looking at someone who understand the basic concept of observing and sensing the fundamental forces that govern the universe," he takes a small bow at the table, "only took a week. I'm good at this when I want to be."

He doesn't mention some things, the fact that he spent years ignoring his avatar, pretending that none of this really real. That all of this was just a figment of his imagination.

"Consider asses kicked, we can call this one a celebratory drink."

Kiara"Absolutely. I'm proud of you." This, with a quick, sharp smile.

A cant of the Verbena's face as she studies Elijah's face when she reaches over the table to clink their glasses together. Kiara hovers over her vodka and tonic, takes a lazy, contemplative sip and keeps looking over the Initiate's face (he's not imagining that the brunette's consideration ventures lower with easy, unconcerned appreciation for his physicality) and when she sets her glass down again; it's to shift closer.

To scrape her chair against the floor and settle beside him with her drink in a swirl of spice and perfume; the pagan laying a hand out on the table and gesturing for his. "I haven't studied the forces of the world that way but one of the first things I learned was how to feel energy." She turns her hand over on top of the table; uncurls her fingers and her palm is small, Kiara, deceivingly fine boned. Bracelets slide over her wrist as she moves her other hand a few inches above; holds it there.

"You can feel the power, there. The conduit our bodies are." Her dark eyes flick to Elijah's face. "That's how I work. I use the natural energy in the universe." She drops one hand away, but leaves the other there, palm up, in a sort of unspoken invocation. "Harness it, give it back where it's been disrupted or decayed."

ElijahDrinks clink and he takes a hearty drink, almost flinches because that's a lot of alcohol and he's not at the point where he can't taste it. He's got high cheek bones. High cheekbones and green eyes and he's the thinner side of someone his height. Doesn't quite have the muscle mass that an athlete does, but again is a creature full of potential. Has a body that is steady, that could take punishment if needed (and welcomed, oh heavens if one knew the kinds of things he's run himself through). There's a steadiness in him now, something that is less unsure and less like a stumbling gazelle. Maybe a little sun kissed. Maybe his cheeks are a little flushed and his pupils are dark and wide.

He doesn't mind the proximity, leans in as though this was conspiratorial talk. She gestures for her hand and it's offered freely- the one without bracelets on, and he takes a sip of his drink again. Something more tentative, something that isn't as cavalier as his first drink.

His eyes go from her hands to her face, stays there. Looks at her like the world could fall apart and he would still pay attention. His lips upturn, "can I see this? I mean, like, when you have time… It's just… redirecting and balancing out where it's supposed to be?"A confirmation needed, perhaps, just to make sure he understood the concept.

Kiara[Life 1, -1 practiced, maybe +1 because we're not so focused and well, we've been drinking. Just a little sensory touching, here.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 2, 5) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[And once more, cuz why not.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

KiaraElijah was a creature full of potential, at the present, he was also one teetering on the edge of too-tipsy. The female with him was bright-eyed but she was built for endurance. Had the lean build of a runner; offered the sensation and suggestion of something threaded through with steel at her core; strength and survival; an innate perseverance at the root of her.

He offers over his hand and Kiara takes it between both of her own; lays it down in mimicry of her own a moment before and carefully flattens it; her fingertips tracing over each distal, down the proximal, the very tips of Kiara's fingernails brushing over his metacarpals; she names them all; the fine bones; her eyes on the pathway her touch knits there and as she does - "It's called ki, life energy. When I want to help someone, I focus on my own, use it to help discover where they might need it."

There's a blooming warmth, when her fingertips encircle his wrist; her thumb and forefinger lightly touching the skin there and Kiara's eyes are abruptly on Elijah's face, instead. She draws her fingers away but the sense of it; the point where she'd touched him remains; like an invisible strand woven between his hand and her palm where she leaves it - inches above.

Warmth spreading and the Verbena's face very near his; mouth canting in the smallest of expressions. "Then I find yours, focus on the point where there's a blockage and help re-distribute it." Her eyes tick back to her hand; to the sensation of his pulse; beating wildly beneath the skin; the way blood was pumping throughout his system; the steady rhythm of his heart beneath layers of clothing.

"Sometimes I have to physically connect with someone. Anchor them to the process, but typically - " She lets her hand shift; moves it across the planes of Elijah's hand as if she were sizing up the respective differences between them (and to an outsider, it must look exactly as if she were). " - just like this. You can learn to listen to the way it sounds. The places it stagnates."

Elijah[WP: seriously, Elijah, no randomly kissing Verbena for foci]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 6, 6, 8) ( success x 3 )

ElijahPotential, yes, but also excess. There were a number of things that he would like to do, and was fairly aware that, if he wanted to make good on said things, he would probably need to call for water for the rest of the evening. Two shots and a mixed drink in, he finally was starting to recognize that he needed to slow down and at least give his liver a bit of a rest.

There are things that Kiara knows about him at that moment, about the rate of his pulse (the faint flutter when her hand is on his wrist), the flush on his cheeks, the fact that he hasn't quite had too much yet but was probably getting there at the rate he was going… it was something said in more ways than one. She'd be able to feel the ink on his skin across his rib cage, the reminders of a dislocated wrist from once upon a time- the one that he had wrapped in bracelets.

He could play it cool, but his heart was pounding loud and hard and fast in his ears. He could play it cool, but his body didn't lie. He was enthralled with her presence, with the experience. He watches, careful, and he listens because how other people worked fascinated him. "And everybody has their own ki right? And you can tell if someone's well or not just… based on that feeling?"

Confirmation, perhaps, that there was something there. He spoke a little softer than necessary. Eyes flickered from hers down to her lips for a second, lingered before going back to their hands. Heart still pounding loud.

Kiara"Has it, sure. Ki is everywhere. It's in everything. The trees, the earth. The air we're breathing. In us. It's a fundamental thing. What I believe - " Kiara's expression is focused, utterly, on the progress of her fingers, as they shift and shape and move over the span of Elijah's fingers, down to his wrist; the flutter-jolt of it when her eyes tick back to find his lingering on her mouth.

She doesn't call him on it, that he's looking. That he's reacting to the physicality of the moment; of her consideration of his pattern; the surface of it; the presence and solidity of it. " - is that it's just another part of nature. A connection to it, proof that we're all tied together. Part of the cycle, you know?" She lets her fingers brush his wrist once; just briefly. A fleeting, gentle reminder and then - she's pulling back.

Letting him breathe.

Breaking the connection.

The brunette reaches for her glass. "You can teach yourself to understand it. To connect with it." She cants him a brief, considering look. "It just takes time. But, you could do it. If you set your mind to it. Maybe not the way I see it, but - " She takes a sip. "In your own way."

ElijahAnd he does breathe. One hard, focused exhalation. One moment of trying to bring himself back to reality and what was going on around him. He wanted to get lost there, wanted to get lost in feeling patterns and people and the world around him. He wanted to jump forward, be reminded that the barriers between self and other were blurry at best, that we were all connected. The grass, the spider in the corner, the businessman warbling Katy Perry holding onto the microphone up front. There was no difference, they were all breathing, beating, bleeding creatures and he wanted that.

"Sometimes," he starts, and it's deliberate and quiet, "there are times that It hunk about it, and I feel like I should thank Sera for this because the lesson fucking rocked my world… but… we were out in Morrison and there was this moment where it was like the world blew apart and the idea that we were any different at our core than grass and trees and people and that we were all alive and all fleeting… I just had this moment where I was like this separateness is bullshit."

And it's his turn, to carefully trace his fingers along her skin but it's not so much flirtatious as it was grounding, a reminder, a thought- "and so many people I know can see the whole world just by having a connection like this, and I see the world falling apart. You push forward, and there's life… and they aren't that different. That break down just lets something new come about."

Kiara
He touches her, then. Reaches over and sets his fingers to her skin and the Verbena turns her face toward him at the action, listens to his quiet thoughts, her eyes steady on him as he speaks; offers the memory of Morrison and the Cultist and that moment and the world blowing apart and just for a beat, the briefest moment, there's a stillness about the Verbena.


A particular way her eyes look; her hair wild and finger-tousled; her cheeks stained pink with vodka; there's a way Kiara's expression constricts that almost feels pained; like she has a very physical, visceral reaction to Elijah's words. The image they paint.

Creature of nature that she was, perhaps it's the idea of it. The world falling apart only to be remade. The destruction before the rebirth; renewal. She lets out a tiny, startled breath and sets her hand on top of his - squeezes down. "There's no separation, Elijah." Kiara's eyes bore into his, they look overbright. "Only the bullshit kind we set in motion ourselves."

She holds him there for a minute longer and then lets her eyes cut away, to the stage, where the spotlight stands empty, abruptly. The crowd and voices and laughter surging around them like a dull roar rising as a wave nears before it crashes into the shore. The Verbena's fingers slide away.

Her chin lifts and she nods toward the stage; carefully unknots the tension in her voice, picks it apart and smooths it out with that edge of familiar teasing. "Hey, our moment has arrived." Kiara draws back, climbs to her feet in a rattle of jewelry and opens a hand out; holds it out.

"Come sing with me?"

ElijahHe is a creature of words. Knows how to paint pictures and get his point across when he is present and he is bright and he is thoughtful. It's passion there, that moment where he talks and remembers the feeling of grass growing and hearts beating and trees blossoming and the rocks and foundation and everything aging, slipping, falling dying, dying dying living. There are things he doesn't say. He doesn't say how badly it frightened him at first, how overwhelming it had been when he'd first awakened to feel the world falling apart around him, to be aware of each passing moment where they ticked into nothingness.

He doesn't say how elated he'd been the first time he'd felt with teeming, vibrant life all around him. Doesn't say that it had turned him on to the idea that magic, that the connection between people, that the feeling of the world yielding and barriers breaking was a stronger aphrodisiac than dropping ecstasy or being a breath away from someone who was remarkable beyond measure.

His eyes stay with hers, and had they had this moment a year ago he would have flinched, would have turned away, would have believed that none of this was possible, but instead he could stand on his own with the moment of understanding, of agreement. That there was no separation. That life was dying and living and dying and the cycle continued because the cycle would persist. Because that was some great, immutable Truth.

She doesn't know it, but his heartbeat is steady. He smiles, eyes flick from hers to the stage.

Elijah stands, takes her hand and tucks it into his elbow like he's some approximation of a right and proper gentleman. Come sing with me? she asks. He grins, eyes alight and soul ablaze. Someday, he'll be charming. Someday, he'll be something, all potential waiting to push into the kinetic. Always reaching for something more, never satisfied. Never settled.

"Wouldn't dream of singing with anyone else," with a look that is disarming. Pleased. Unbowed and secure- sometimes, he's confident. Maybe it'll hold until he's sober.